


Kharidian Night

by solarbishop



Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: Deception, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Manipulation, Original Character(s), Post-Sliske's Endgame, Spoilers, WG is not very nice, Zamorakian WG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25527454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarbishop/pseuds/solarbishop
Summary: Wahisietel answers his door to the World Guardian, who seeks his help to solve a rather persistent problem.[A "What if the WG was clever enough to do something about Sliske?"-kind of fic tbh lol][This fic is a stand-alone, but I might write additional chapters if I feel inclined.]
Kudos: 4





	Kharidian Night

Every Kharidian night is cool, nearly short of cold, and the brushing of a thumb against paintbrush bristles dots the sky with brilliant stars. Every night is a good night to read, and he withdraws a book from his bookcase and settles down for the remainder of the day on a wooden chair beside his table. Upon that table sits a burning candle, casting a looming shadow over vacated areas of his abode but functionally illuminating his immediate surroundings so that he may read. A tome he acquired through trade caravans traveling by Nardah, he anticipates its contents as something worthwhile to add to his pool of knowledge. His “wisdom,” as his kindly, human neighbors put it. Thus, the old feeling of the worn leather bindings and the yellow pages at his fingertips almost excites him. 

He is disappointed then, when about ten pages into his book, a knock at the door interrupts the peace of his home. However, Ali the Wise, or Wahisietel, is a patient man; he marks his place in the tome and rises from his seat, walking to the door. He cannot entirely mask his surprise upon unlocking and opening the door to reveal the World Guardian, of all people, at such an ungodly hour.

Perhaps her presented disposition is more surprising to him than her actual presence here so late at night. Her feathered hat is to her chest as a sign of respect, a silent request for permission into his home, but she seems... strange in a way that Wahisietel cannot quite describe. Although, he does note that her eyes are dark with weariness and a troubled frown that contorts her features into something _serious_. The mahjarrat finds himself wondering if she has slept, at all?

Curious, Wahisietel stands aside and allows her into his home, and she ambles inside with a nod to express her gratitude. He closes the door after her entry, and then afterwards he ensures that cloth covers his slim windows to block any unwanted gossips or intrusions into his or her private matters. 

He gestures to the single chair he possesses for her, whilst he grabs and drags a crate to the table for himself. “Please, sit,” he says gently.

The World Guardian complies, setting her hat upon the table, beside Wahisietel’s book.

“Since it is quite late,” he begins, hoping to not come across as testy, “why have you come knocking at my door? To be honest, after everything that has happened, I wouldn’t have anticipated a visit from you for a long while.”

“I need... help,” she says quietly after some time. “I think that you may be the only person who _can_ help me.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I can’t—I am... I am having trouble. Trouble with sleeping. Perhaps you could help me with that.”

The candle’s fire flickers, and so does light and shadow.

Wahisietel squints, partly in distrust and in concern. “After _everything_ , why would you need my—”

“Look,” she grits her teeth, “I need _your_ help, and it _must_ be _you_.”

After watching the hunched World Guardian tuck a disheveled lock of hair behind her ear, Wahisietel sighs and acquiesces, rubbing his bearded chin thoughtfully. “I see. I am not certain how I could be of assistance to you, but I can certainly try.”

“And while I’m here, you can also certainly save your Zarosian guilt trips for later,” she mutters. Wahisietel cannot honestly be truly offended by the statement, but he is miffed.

“Very well then. I can save all of the disappointment I have in you for later. That being said, for as long as you are within my home, we could be something of companions again. Friends, even. Try not to get snippy with me.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, rubbing her eyes. “Yes, you’re right. I am not myself these days.”

“Apology accepted.” His lips purse, then he relaxes. “So, then. Tell me more about your ailments. What is troubling you?”

The World Guardian straightens in her seat, her brows furrowed in contemplation. “As I’ve said, I can’t sleep. When I try, I suffer these horrendous nightmares and wake up in a pool of my own sweat. Nowadays, I feel like... like, I am always dreading for the worst to happen. I hear things. I see things. When I am alone, these terrible feelings seem to intensify. I don’t feel well. I don’t feel like myself.”

She sounds so tired. Wahisietel feels a pang of sympathy for her, but he somewhat expected these negative emotions to flare up at some point. She has endured so much throughout her relatively short life, arguably too much. Tentatively, Wahisietel says, “I am sorry to hear that. You have a lot to prove, especially now that you bear the burden of the Elder Choir’s unfathomable task—from what I hear, anyway. To me, it seems that you have developed a severe bout of anxiety.”

Puzzled, Wahisietel watches the World Guardian exude discontent from the chair across from him, shifting and shifting in her seat. For a brief moment, Wahisietel wonders if he said something wrong, and he isn’t entirely dismissive of that idea when she just continues to stare at him. The mahjarrat genuinely is not sure why she approached for help from him. He feels inadequate. Her posture slumps, her hands pool into her lap, but it is her eyes that captivate his attention. Due to the candlelight beside them, the shadow cast over her face flickers in such a way that best reflects her exasperation, even hinting at desperation.

After awhile, she huffs, “Something... like that. It all started a couple of weeks ago.”

Wahisietel digests that bit of information, confirming his hypothesis that the anxiety started at the dawn of the Elder Choir. “Have you tried... meditation?” He offers lamely, unsure of what advice to give her. He is no doctor, but merely a humble researcher. He especially has no authority when administering treatment for human afflictions. “Something to abate this anxiety you have developed?”

The World Guardian rolls her eyes, and, perplexed, her eyes dart to some abyssal corner of his abode before returning her attention to him. “Yes,” she sighs, bordering on a hiss, “I have. I’ve also tried going to healers, or concoting my own medications, or rendering myself insensate with alcohol—terrible idea, that one. I’ve tried _telling_ people about my problem, but I can’t even form the words I need to get my point across. They don’t understand the troubles I’m going through, how I’m not like myself these days. They _can’t_ understand. But you can. You have to.”

Wahisietel pauses. “You’ve mentioned that before already—not feeling like yourself. I believe that was the third time you have said it. What exactly is going on with you, World Guardian?”

The fire of the candle dwindles progressively as the night drags onward, and more shadows permeate his abode, surrounding and choking that dying flame. That is when something truly terrible arises, rising as a chill that surges through his spine and into his limbs. He freezes, then the race of adrenaline sharpens his senses and he catches something that fills his very essence as a mahjarrat with dread. A shadow that flickers across the face of the World Guardian, a very haunted expression behind her eyes, something that he _can_ see, something awfully familiar.

Wahisietel straightens slowly, and he releases the breath he was holding. “... Sliske?”

Immediately, an expression of pure _relief_ floods her expression. Wahisietel nearly thinks that the World Guardian is going to weep, not because there is this monster presumably inside of her, but because she is finally heard. To his own relief, she does not break into tears, but she flinches as if she hears a phantom sound. Wahisietel hears nothing, but the brief distraction allows the scholar time to reflect. 

Haunted, the World Guardian murmurs, “He laughed.”

“You came to me because I know my brother better than anyone else,” he says slowly, the dawn of realization weighing his body down into the depths of the abyss. “You reached out to me because I could _see_.”

The World Guardian nods quietly.

“He wasn’t allowing you to talk about him,” he presses. “You cannot solve issues that you cannot even begin to discuss.”

Again, she nods. “Yes.

Wahisietel leans forward, clasping his hands together. “You would have come to me sooner if revealing this information didn’t pose such a risk to you. I am a Zarosian mahjarrat who now knows that Sliske continues to compromise the World Guardian, a servant of Zamorak. Someone could take advantage of your instability, of your... condition. You know that I must report this to Azzanadra, yes?”

The World Guardian smiles tightly. “You could, yes. However, I could have sworn that you would have liked to be in your own story.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Perhaps you _don’t_ want to tell Azzanadra. After all, does Azzanadra tell you everything?”

“I cannot believe this,” he chuckles humorlessly. “I am being manipulated in my own house by the World Guardian—at some ungodly hour.”

“I wouldn’t think of it as manipulation if it is the truth, Wahisietel,” she sighs, exhausted. “Azzanadra, even Zaros, may not trust you with any information, even actively keeping their little secrets to themselves, but I came to you directly for help. I need your help, I need someone to know to know that I have this... problem, that I can’t tell anyone else.”

Her words stroke that need inside of his psyche, that intense need to be recognized and useful. His mind drifts to Perjour and that damnable book, to those vivid imaginations of clandestine meetings between his Lord and Azzanadra, trading plans and secrets of which he takes no part. Perhaps he really could have his own story.

“We will need to discuss this further,” he says, looking to her hat as a signal for her to leave his home. Really, he needs time to think. “For now, I suppose... we can both agree to not tell anyone. Will you return later, so that I can understand the whole story of what happened in the Heart?”

The World Guardian nods and dons her hat. “Of course. I will go back home, and I’ll try to get some sleep.”

Wahisietel sees the World Guardian fumble behind the table, and she produces runes that she uses to teleport away, leaving nothing tangible for him to indicate she was ever here at all.  
  
  
  


  
The World Guardian arrives in her parlor upon her return home. She fishes for a small device inside her pouch, a piece of technology that she cleverly hid from Wahisietel during their conversation. She was confident that she could manage such a feat if she preoccupied his attention for the entire time, and she succeeded in doing so. Engaging in sleight of hand before a mahjarrat was a risky decision, she knows this, but if Wahisietel does not go along with what she wants, then at least her allies would know about Sliske.

She activates the magical device, waits, and speaks into it, “Moia, did you get everything?”


End file.
